


The Seth of Sol

by shyday



Category: Deadwood
Genre: yuletide2004
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:04:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyday/pseuds/shyday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Tiriel</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Seth of Sol

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tiriel

 

 

Remember that skinny mutt that used to hang around your place in Montana? The first time you saw that ugly dog nosing around your yard, you didn't think he had it in him to last another week, let alone the entire winter. But again and again he came, showing up at your door nearly every day for six months or so. And every time he appeared, you gave him the scraps you'd set aside from your last meal. You couldn't say why, exactly. Maybe because he didn't seem to have another friend in all the world.

Seth sure made a show of hating that dog. If he happened to be around at the same time as your mangy new acquaintance, you could be certain there was going to be some comment about fleas or the smell or all that pointlessly wasted food. Something about how if the thing had any sense, it would just go off and find somewhere to die. Sometimes you'd tease him that he should take the animal home as a present for his kid. But most times you'd just smile and go on with whatever it was you'd been doing.

That dog never got any fatter in all that time. Seth had never stopped making noise about that either.

Seeing as how Seth tended toward being a man who meant what he said, you might've been inclined to believe that he really had nothing in his heart but disgust for that sad unfortunate creature. Might've, had you not come around the corner of the house that time to find him squatting nose to nose with the animal. Speaking to it too, talking in the that same low, even tone he'd been using with you over coffee not ten minutes before. And you stood there, watching him with that dog. Stood there long enough to see one of his hands slip into a pocket to produce a secret snack for the animal he claimed to loathe.

You didn't say anything, just retraced your steps back a ways and tried not to grin when he made the usual remark about "your" dog as he was heading off for home. You always made a point, after that, of giving them a few minutes alone together if you plausibly could. If Seth noticed, he never said anything.

But then one night you two were leaving Molly's bar, the air between you swirling with vague excited plans for the hardware store you'd started dreaming up sometime in the last few days. You were telling him about the camp you'd just heard about, newly sprung to life right where all those big strikes were happening out in the Black Hills. Indian territory, you said. A niche begging to be filled. Seth was smiling, remember? You hadn't seen him smile like that in weeks, not since Alec Booth and his boys rode into town. Chips on their shoulders and trouble in their eyes, and even after he'd run them off, Seth hadn't been able to relax. But that night you were able to make him smile.

Until you saw the dog lying in the street, a ragingly drunk Jack Wyman towering over him.

You'd gotten so used to the sight of him that you'd forgotten just how pathetic the poor animal really looked. But, for a moment there, the only thing your mind could focus on was the all too obvious outline of his ribs. The way they jerked violently every time Jack's boot made contact with his skeletal side.

It was as if that tightly-wound cord inside Seth finally snapped then, and when he lunged he'd hit Jack so hard that they both went down in the mud. You had to pull him off Jack in the end - or try to, anyway. Fingers digging hard into shoulders, arms; his name echoing in your voice until the message finally broke through. He shook himself, stood up. Hauled bruised and bleeding Jack to his feet and off to a cell to sleep until the hangover found him.

Neither of you ever spoke about that dog again.

*

Do you remember that morning, eight days out from the Montana line? It had rained all night, a windy, howling storm that spooked the horses and threatened to wash you both away. You were making coffee, wondering how you'd already managed to go through your entire supply. You were having trouble getting the fire started, but you were a man backed by the desperate determination of a sleepless night behind and a full day's ride ahead. There was no way you intended to let a few sticks of damp wood get the better of you.

Countless useless sparks later, you looked up to see Seth watching you. He'd been seeing to the horses and checking for any unsalvageable provisions lost to the night's downpour. But now he seemed to be simply standing there, leaning against the trunk of a sturdy tree. Staring at you.

You weren't getting anywhere, so you stepped aside to let him take a turn when he offered. You didn't have much faith in his ability to get the fire going either, truth be told, but if he thought he had some kind of magic to work you were more than willing to let him try. If he couldn't do it, you'd be no worse off than when you started.

And if he could, there'd be coffee.

You can see it again now, that tiny flame flaring up from behind the protection of his loosely cupped fingers. And again. And again. He cursed under his breath after the fourth match failed to perform the entirety of its designated function, throwing the smoking stick down into the dirt to land on its useless wet head. You tried to keep the smile off your lips. You were fairly successful.

You suggested devising a way to keep the walls of your new store permanently damp, because that way you'd never have to worry about the place burning down. Seth wasn't exactly amused. He lit another match, growling when it met the same fate as the others that had come before. You wondered how long he'd keep at it before finally admitting defeat. Seth never was one to give up easily.

It was you watching him then, standing there waiting while the thin rays of a hazy sun tried valiantly to warm the chill air. Your eyes followed his hands mostly, tracking them as they turned over the kindling, scratched another match. It wasn't the first time those hands had captured your attention; if anything, you'd given them far too much notice. Over the years you'd watched those hands do many things. You knew their strength, the solidity of their handshake grip. You'd seen their dexterity, their speed and skill with a gun. Fingers that wrapped themselves around a pen or a tool with equal confidence, palms that were calloused but not rough. Hands that could rest comfortingly on a man's shoulder. Fists that could connect powerfully with a man's face.

You watched those hands snap a piece of wood the width of your wrist. Another curse. The horses moved restlessly behind you.

At least you knew there'd be coffee left tomorrow.

*

And remember that night with Trixie? Another frenzied encounter, this one in the stolen shadows of a sleepless night. You'd been out walking for at least an hour, trapped inside an usually unsettled frame of mind. Thinking about the way things were and the direction in which they seemed to be headed, wondering if you'd even have the chance to follow through on this new life you'd begun to create. Then you passed The Gem, just in time to see a blonde figure slip around the corner and fade silently into the darkness.

When you caught up with her, she was leaning with her back against the building and her eyes closed. Out of sight of the balcony, you noticed. You stopped, watching her chest rise and fall as she breathed in the night air. Admiring the way the moonlight played across her cheekbones, her bare skin. Your body weight shifted then, and the mud squelched under your boot. Trixie jumped at the noise, her eyes opening wide and sudden. She looked in that moment like nothing so much as a misbehaving child.

But she saw it was you, and her body melted into another stance entirely. No longer the child now, a layered smile shaped her mouth as she waited for you to close the distance between your two bodies. You felt that pull you always felt when she was around. Don't deny it. Sparing only the vaguest of cautionary glances toward the out of sight saloon entrance, you took a step toward her. And another.

She smelled of sweat and sex and men, the last something you fought to ignore as you pressed yourself against her. What was left of the rational part of your mind whispered about dangerous mistakes as her practiced fingers deftly worked your belt buckle. There'd be hell to pay for sure if Swearengen or one of his boys found you out there with her. There'd be no way to talk yourself out of that one, that you knew.

Trixie slid her hand into your pants. Talking instantly became the furthest thing from your mind.

Between the dark night and your mouth moving its way down her neck, you couldn't see her eyes. Those hard blank eyes that had struck you as so indescribably sad the first time you'd noticed them. Nothing like Seth's eyes, though his too had their own kind of adapted mask. Trixie's eyes looked more empty, as if over the years most of their feeling had been drained little by little to leach out into the indifferent ground. But in Seth's eyes the feelings were all still there, shielded and waiting. You knew that if you watched long enough, you'd eventually catch one of those lucky moments when a flash of emotion sneaked its way past the usual indecipherable defenses.

You forced yourself to concentrate on the soft, rounded body moving against you. On the smooth female hands that touched you.

It wasn't as if you didn't want her - you did. It wasn't as if you didn't _like_ her - you liked her just fine. You'd felt this way about her since the first time you saw her, remember. You enjoyed being close to her, you thought about her when she wasn't around. Whenever you passed The Gem, there was always a part of you that considered going in to look for her, consequences be damned. It wasn't just about these hurried secret fucks, either. You liked Trixie. All of her, just as she was.

But you caught a stray hint of that male scent again, and those were Seth's eyes that flickered across your mind.

You pushed inside her, heard yourself groan. There wasn't time for those thoughts. It wouldn't ever be time for those thoughts.

You wanted to stop thinking all together. You'd almost succeeded.

"It's okay," she said in your ear then. "Just pretend I'm him."

 

 

 


End file.
